Firewhiskey Two!
by aint-no-muggle
Summary: Yes, that's right, edited yet again. To the best of my knowledge, there is now absolutely ZILCH corn. Dude, cut me some slack. It's my first fiction, and I was unwilling to touch it, for stupid sentimental reasons. So, read it, because it's better now :3


**This is a repost of my first ever fanfic, Firewhiskey, but with a new ending. I wasn't terribly happy with the ending of my first one; it was corny, and not very realistic. So I made a new ending! And I must say, I'm a lot happier with this one ^^ It could be better, but still. I'm happy now :3 Enjoy! DON'T FORGET TO REVIEW :p**

* * *

Sitting carelessly on a barstool in the Leaky Cauldron, a grey-eyed blonde leans on his elbows against the bar wallowing in his only comfort these days. Firewhiskey. His position is one of an accepted defeat: he was facing the bar, leaning against the table on his elbows, head down and looking at his smoking beverage and fiddling with the rim of the glass containing it.

It's a Friday night and the only people in the pub are a couple of bums and three or four witches and wizards - these ones in particular have nothing better to do with their lives than drink themselves into a stupor, him included. He was only on his first glass of firewhiskey and was still painfully aware of his surroundings and the people in them, as well as the unfaithful, cranky, bitch of a wife at home. He was only married to her because it was arranged by his bastard of a father, who very conveniently forgot to tell him about it until the day of the unfortunate event. There was no way out of it, either, because his father had signed a magical contract signing his son's entire inheritance over to his new daughter-in-law-to-be. So the blue-eyed man had been faced with two choices: marry the woman who was honestly worse than Voldemort, or be disowned and forced out on the streets with nothing but the clothes on his back.

The icing on the cake? Not even a day later he found out she was a muggleborn. The only reason his father had made him marry her was to restore his family's honor after the war had ended and Voldemort lost, and seeing as his father had been one of Voldemort's top supporters, he was regarded as scum by most of the wizarding community. Until, that is, he made his son marry the muggleborn.

Truth be told, the grey-eyed man didn't even really care that she was muggleborn. He had gotten over his stupid prejudices about blood purity and all that bull very soon after the war ended. No, the real problem (aside from the known fact that she not only slept around, but bragged about every man she slept with to anyone who listened) was that, after the marriage, none of the purebloods he had ever talked to – and they were the only people he talked to (once again because of his damn parents and their pureblood mania) – would even look at him. He was alone. He had married the ungrateful wench, and every Friday, Saturday and Sunday after that when he wasn't working in the Auror office he went to various pubs here and there to wallow in his misery. It had been like that for three years now.

The door slammed open and a woman who was soaked to the bone half-limped in. The grey-eyed man looked over curiously for a half a second, but quickly looked away without interest. Nothing was very interesting to him anymore. She was probably just like him: unhappy marriage, too proud to cheat, came weekly to get drunk and forget about life for a few blissful hours. He didn't watch as she walked over to the bar as naturally as she could with her clearly injured leg, threw her leather over-the-shoulder bag onto the ground next to the bar, and collapsed onto a barstool three or four stools away from him. Now she would order a drink (probably something weak, due to an inability to hold her liqueur), get drunk quickly, and stumble home. He wondered briefly if he knew her; the curly brown hair cascading down her back and her professional attire (white button-down shirt and khakis) seemed vaguely familiar.

"Firewhiskey, please, Tom;" she told the bartender softly and bitterly. "And leave the bottle on the table." This caught his attention. She was a regular? He perked his ears and listened intently, wondering if she was the type to cry out her life's worries to the bartender. He snorted, imagining what it might be. Husband is cheating... their children hate her... no friends... lost her job... yeah, probably just like him, just without the children and lost job.

"Another bad day with the husband, Hermione?" Tom says softly back in a knowing and sympathetic nature, intended more as a statement of fact than a question. So she knows Mr. Bartender on a personal level? A total regular. Maybe there was going to be some good, interesting stuff in this.

"Don't you know it." She put her head in her hands, her fingers raking through her golden-brown curls. Tom rested his hand on her shoulder comfortingly before getting her drink. Yup, there was the fatherly gesture. Tom was about to hand her a shot glass when she raised her hand to stop him and said, "No – give me a gillywater glass, please." The grey-eyed man looked at her as if she was insane; gillywater glasses are large and tall, a lot like a tall muggle beer glass but thinner and slightly shorter; and his mouth dropped open when Tom sighed and actually gave it to her before going over to help another customer. She poured herself a glass and took a great gulp of the firewhiskey, relishing the searing sensation it left in her throat, closely followed by a second and a third. Huh, maybe she wasn't a pansy. She leaned against the bar on her elbows looking at the glass, much as the grey-eyed man had been. Her posture sang of helplessness and defeat. Mhm, she had gotten the grey-eyed man's attention now.

Then something Tom had said hit him, and the grey-eyed man began full-out staring at her as she poured herself another glass of firewhiskey. _Hermione? As in mudblood Granger, Hermione? _Now scrutinizing her appearance, he could see the resemblance between this woman and the Granger he knew from Hogwarts. Though her hair was no longer a bushy, wild mess and was now a soft cascade of honey-colored curls falling down her back, it was still the same golden-brown color it had been in school. He leaned over the table, trying to get a better look at her face. Her eyes were still chocolate colored, but there was something that he couldn't quite put his finger on about them that was different, and… disturbing. Sitting back in his stool in a more normal way, he took in the rest of her body. She still had the characteristically long legs that the old Granger always had, though she had filled out more and was… well, to put it simply, a woman. She wasn't hiding herself under her clothing anymore, either. Clad in that simple white button-up shirt and khakis, with a black leather coat that was now discarded next to her, the clothes suited her. Like, really suited her. She looked very professional, just as she had noted earlier, but it wasn't in a stern or cold way. She pulled off the look quite nicely. Hermione Jean Granger was, he admitted to himself with a wince, beautiful. Of course she had always been pretty at school (which he had only very grudgingly admitted to himself a couple of years after leaving Hogwarts, when he found a picture of her in the Daily Profit. She was being recognized as one of the most talented witches to go to Hogwarts, and there was a picture of her when they had been in their fifth year.)  
She felt him watching her, and her head whipped around to look at him. She jumped back and almost fell off of her stool, knocking over her glass in the process, when she realized who he was. Surprise, Granger, he thought bitterly.

* * *

At first, Hermione was shocked so badly that she could think or speak.

It had been five, almost six years since she had last seen the sneering, pale-faced and grey-eyed man that was now before her. Of course, he had been different then; before they left Hogwarts, his posture alone rang of arrogance – he was tall, erect and proud. Now, however, he was slouched over and his pride was quite clearly gone. His icy grey eyes also used to be cold and full of malice, but now they seemed devoid of emotion. The way he dressed, in those days, was meant to show off his wealth and family status: if he wasn't in the Hogwarts school uniform, it was always black dress pants, expensive white button-up shirts, and dress shoes that were polished until they shined brighter than the sun. Now, though he was still sporting the old white button-up rolled up to his elbows, he was wearing _jeans_ and _sneakers._ Granted, they probably weren't your everyday cheap shirt, jeans or sneakers, but she had never seen Malfoy dress so casual– or so _muggle._

She swayed a bit and gripped the counter to steady herself, hissing in pain when her hand came in contact with broken glass and firewhiskey.

"Shit," she muttered, taking out her wand and cleaning up the mess. She shot a glare at him as she mended her hand and hoped he could feel his nose throb where she had punched him in their third year.

"Sod off, Malfoy," she snarled at him when he didn't stop staring with that look of utter bewilderment. She couldn't believe that after thinking that she was rid of him five or six years ago that he was back to haunt her. _Oh, I bet he loves seeing me like this,_ she thought with a sneer. _The great Hermione Granger, brains of the group, proud bookworm and brightest witch of her age; broken, sitting at a filthy bar, broken and trying to get drunk ._

The real reason that she was so unhappy to see him, however, was because it reminded her of a time when her life had been so much happier and simpler. But of course she refused to admit that to herself.

She turned away, poured herself another glass of alcohol and resumed her drinking; and after a couple of minutes her upper body was once again hunched over with hair obscuring her face, as if the weight of the day's stress had been placed on her shoulders.

Five large glasses of firewhiskey later, Tom came over again. Resting his hand on her shoulder again, he told her "I think you've had enough to drink now, Hermione." Indeed, more than three quarters of the bottle was gone, but she just shrugged as if not much in life mattered to her anymore. Her head was still bowed when he asked softly, but just loudly enough for Malfoy to hear, "What happened this time?" Her eyes shot to where Malfoy was sitting and watched as he took his turn almost falling out of his seat while his eyes widened at the words' implications and the tone they were said in. Watching Malfoy carefully, Hermione slowly and hesitantly took out her wand and took off the concealment charm; revealing a puffy black eye almost swollen shut, a large bruise on her cheek, and a split lip that was still bleeding slightly. There were other bruises, some yellow and fading and others not, that cluttered her face as well as a couple of scratches. She winced at Malfoy's look of horror. _Why so horrified? Isn't this what's supposed to happen to mudbloods? _She wanted to hiss at him. She bit her tongue instead and looked away.

Tom took her chin in his hand, tilting her head this way and that to examine her injuries. The way she kept her eyes down, her posture relaxed, and didn't object to his scrutiny, added to the way Tom's hands gently held her face in a caring way that a father may put to use, Hermione knew that Malfoy could probably tell that it was a routine thing. She wondered if he could tell that Tom had become a fatherly figure for her.

"Mother of Merlin, Hermione," Tom said softly. He tilted her head up slightly and examined a red and raw ring around her neck that looked as if someone had put a cord of some sort around it and attempted to strangle her.

"Mother of Merlin is right," Hermione watched Malfoy say to himself. She watched coldly as his eyes followed her bruises down her neck, pause at the ring, and then past her collarbone to where her shirt hid the rest from view, and watched as Malfoy came to the conclusion with a shudder that they were all over her body. Finished with his inspection, Tom put a new concealment charm on her and she ripped her eyes away from Malfoy. She felt the familiar warm sensation trickling down her that signified that, because of the charm, she was beautiful as ever. Tom moved out from behind the bar and sat on a stool next her and she turned to look at him, unwillingly allowing Malfoy get a glimpse of her eyes. She glanced at Malfoy and quickly away again as his eyes widened in shock at what they saw, what he couldn't quite put his finger on before: the life, fire and passion that had always refused to burn out at school had been completely drained away. In its place left a beautiful but empty woman. She whispered something so that Malfoy couldn't hear, and scowled when he just took out his wand and cast a charm to heighten his hearing as Tom began replying.

"-didn't just beat you today, did he?" asked Tom, his voice ringing with helplessness. Hermione shook her head. "What happened?" he persisted. She hesitated, wondering if Malfoy was still watching, but refused to look at him again. For now. She finally lowered her head down again, and finally began speaking softly.

"I hadn't had the time to make dinner between the time that I got home from work and the time he did," She told Tom in a strangled whisper. "The Head of the Department of Magical Affairs– I told you that I worked at the ministry, right?– Well, he pulled me aside for a moment to talk to me because he was worried about something. I had come into work late the past couple of days and he said that it wasn't like me, so he wanted to make sure everything was okay. God Damn it, I was an idiot," she moaned, putting her head in her hands. "I accidentally mentioned something about some troubles with Ron," at this Malfoy tensed, hoping he was wrong about his suspicion. "And he was suspicious… It took me 45 minutes to convince him everything was fine, I had to make up some crap about my grandmother coming to stay with us for a few weeks and that he doesn't like her much. I got home and then about a half-an-hour later he came home, too. He was an hour early and I hadn't even finished cleaning the kitchen. And, well, you know how he is when he's angry. He started screaming about how incompetent and useless I was, and how I was a waste of skin and a good-for-nothing mudblood." Malfoy winced as he recognized his old nickname for her. "He took out his wand and cast a spell… I don't know what it was… but it suddenly felt like I had an invisible ring around my neck," tears began to well in her eyes as she began talking really fast, getting more hysterical by the moment, wanting the memory to end. Malfoy felt an overwhelming pain for her and dreaded what was coming next. "Whatever it was lifted me up from the floor and hurtled me upstairs…" the tears were threatening to spill over, now, and she began talking really fast. "And - and then he threw me onto the bed and took the spell off just before I blacked out and he pinned me down and ripped my clothes off – and – and he –" She turned back to the bar and buried her head in her arms, breaking down into sobs. Tom rubbed her back in that fatherly manner and a tortured expression.

Malfoy felt sick. Turning back towards Tom, one half of a glance told her that he did. She could see it; he had turned even paler than usual and his eyes were wide. She saw in his icy grey eyes that he had either gotten over his ridiculous prejudices or forgot who she was; either way, she could tell that he felt like an ass for making her miserable during school. _And now,_ she thought bitterly, _I'm getting an even worse hell from my husband. Congratulations, Draco effing Malfoy. _She wondered, squirming in her seat uncomfortably, if he knew– or even had an inkling– who it was.

"When are you just going to leave that bastard of a Weasley, 'Mione?" Tom muttered shaking his head. Hermione winced for the umpteenth time, as Malfoy's mouth dropped open in shock yet again. _Well, that answers that question,_ she thought to herself bitterly._ Wonderful._ She could almost see the red haze of anger wash over his vision as his suspicion was confirmed, and could imagine him shouting in his head: _It's the _**Weasel**_ doing this to her?_ _And she's _**letting**_ him?_ Even if it wasn't someone he knew, (through hatred or not), he probably couldn't believe that anyone would subject themselves to that – or that someone would do that to another person.

She slumped forward a little more, her head still bowed. She could feel Malfoy's eyes boring into the top of her head. "The worst part," she whispered, not knowing who she was talking to anymore, "even worse than the bruises and fractured bones… is that I didn't have the strength, or even the willpower, to fight him anymore." She started to take another sip of firewhiskey, but an annoyed Tom snatched the glass away from her before she could and Vanished it.

"You've had enough to drink," he echoed himself from earlier. Hermione once again merely shrugged. He groaned. "Damn it, Hermione, that man is going to kill you one of the days!" Tom whispered angrily.

"I– I don't know what to do," she whispered after a couple of seconds as she put her head in her arms again, vulnerable and helpless. A brawl erupted between the two bums in the corner of the pub and Tom hesitantly and reluctantly went to break up the fight. When he left, Malfoy couldn't keep himself from getting up and sitting next to her.

* * *

Malfoy may have never particularly liked Hermione Granger (okay, that was an understatement), but after leaving Hogwarts and taking a second look at life, he somewhat regretted the way he had treated her. Alright, that was another understatement. And the remorse grew every day. He wanted to apologize, to reconcile with her, but his pride - his goddamn pride - always got in the way. But now, after seeing what he saw, he didn't know what else to do.

After sitting there for a full minute without her realizing that he was there, he mustered up some courage to speak.

"Why do you let him do it?" he asked her, his brow furrowing. He wasn't really sure why he wanted to know, other than the fact that he had no idea why the brightest witch of their age was letting herself get beaten up by a Weasel. She jumped a little and sat up, and turned to face him slowly and hesitantly, emotions flashing across her face. Shock, because he was talking to her. Alarm, because he sounded concerned. And terror at the thought that he knew.

"W-what do you mean?" She said, flustered. Malfoy noticed that she wasn't swaying or slurring her words at all; it seemed she could hold her alcohol very well.

"You know damn well what I mean," He said, frowning intently. His eyes locked onto hers and trapped her in his gaze.

"I– I really–"

"I heard you telling the bartender," he said, and his frown deepened. His tone was gentle yet firm, and told her arguing would be useless; yet Malfoy doubted that she wouldn't that eventually it wouldn't stop her from doing so.

"Damn it Malfoy why do you care?" she glared at him. "I'm just a filthy, worthless, good-for-nothing mudblood not worth the slime on your shoes, if you remember. You certainly reminded me enough in school." She turned back to the bar counter and conjured herself another glass, and after pouring herself more firewhiskey, took a sip and ran her finger slowly and tenderly along the rim of her glass.

Malfoy winced. "I'm sorry for what I did to you at school," he said to her sincerely. "I was a bloody idiot who needed two things: attention, and to be better than everyone else."

"Draco fucking Malfoy, that's the truest thing I've ever heard you say in the history of your pitiful existence." He narrowed his eyes at her, but decided not to test her. He sighed and chose to play the 'forgive me of my wrongful ways' card.

"I know. I was an asshole."

"You were," she said and nodded; agreeing. "And a bastard, as well as an arrogant prick and a big-headed jerk that needed to get over himself."

"Yeah," he said, somewhat uncomfortably. He struggled for something to say after that.

Hermione was the one who broke the moment of awkward silence. She shook her head slowly, saying softly and clearly reluctantly, "But there's something you're forgetting about, Malfoy."

"You can call me Draco, you know," he said, smirking that signature Malfoy smirk, but without the coldness and hate. "I won't hex you." Hermione grimaced. If she was going to be cordial, she would have to let him use her name as well.

"Alright… Draco…" Hermione grimaced again. "Then I suppose you're allowed to call me Hermione, and I'll try my best not to hex you," she said reluctantly. "Seriously, though," Hermione continued after a few seconds, "You're forgetting something." Draco furrowed his brow, appearing to be in deep thought, and replied in what seemed to be all seriousness.

"I was a great prat who needed to face reality and the fact that he wasn't the most adored person in the world." Hermione shook her head slightly, the corner of her mouth twitching upwards against her will in what would normally have been a small smirk, but right now, for the lack of practice, was a little more of a grimace. "An unbelievable git who's going to hell for being so bigheaded?" She shook her head again.

"Definitely, but that's not it."

"A stupid berk who was so dim-witted that he decided to look past your good qualities, and treated you like scum because of jealousy and your parents, among other things?" she looked at him again questioningly but amused, and a blush slowly began creeping up his neck. Stupid diarrhea of the mouth.

"Well I was going to go with the fact that you were taught that mudbloods such as myself are scum so it really wasn't your fault, but I guess that works, too," she said, the corner of her mouth going up in half-smirk for the second time. It almost reached her eyes this time; not quite, but Draco figured that if he could get her to smile again that in another couple of tries he could get it to. "Although," she said after a moment, "I'm very curious as to what these good qualities you seem to think I have are." Draco shrugged uncomfortably.

"You're rather intelligent – brilliant, really – and attractive, too. Even I couldn't deny that after a year away from my parents." She cocked an eyebrow.

"Even though I'm a mudblood?" Draco frowned.

"Stop using that word, will you?"

"And why should I? You used to use it, half the wizarding community uses it – for Merlin's sake, even my _husband_ uses it. It's just a word." The end of that statement, however, sounded rather weak in resolve and had the air of someone not only trying to convince the person they were talking to, but themselves, as well. Draco's eyes narrowed.

"You _know_ that it's not just the word – it's the intent _behind_ it. And," he continued in an angry growl, "Your husband is a bastard who should be thrown in Azkaban for the rest of his life for what he does to you. And you _can't _defend him! It made me sick to see that he could do something like that to you, someone physically weaker than him-!"

"Which is quite clearly nothing, because as you can see, I don't have a single mark on me!" she cut him off. He glared at her, but she knew that it was because he knew she was lying and he was sick of it.

"How can you still deny what he's doing?" he demanded, completely nonplussed. "I _heard_ you telling Tom about what he did today! I_ saw _what he did to you!" He grabbed her shoulders and searched her eyes pleadingly. "Admit it! Please! Admit that Weasley is hurting you, that he hit you and raped you! It's going to drive me insane!" he begged as she shrank away from him. He removed his hands when her eyes began to fill with tears, as though burned by her look of fear and sadness.

"He– it's not–" she gasped around strangled sobs. "If I were– were just a better wife– a better– a better witch–"

He grabbed her shoulders again, more gently this time, but firmly so that she couldn't shrink away from him.

"Don't you dare," he growled with icy fire in his eyes. "Don't you _dare_ blame yourself for what he does." She finally succeeded in wrenching herself out of his grasp and he turned away from him, tears shining in her eyes, clamping her hand over her mouth to stifle sobs.

"Hermione," he whispered, and she glanced and him, taking her hand away from her mouth and wrapping her arms around herself protectively. She was turning away from him again, but before she was completely turned he flicked his wand at her and the concealment charm came off. She turned the rest of the way away quickly, humiliated.

Before, Draco had only seen one side of her face; and even though he only got to see the other side of her face for a second before she turned away, he could tell that if anything, that side was worse. Malfoy gently put his hand on her arm, and then slowly turned her to face him. When she was facing him again she shot a glare at him with angry tears in her eyes, but he gently took hold of her chin with his thumb and forefinger and turned her head so that he could look at her injuries, placing his other hand on her shoulder comfortingly.

She had a deep cut going from her temple to her jaw line, and yet even more bruises; one on her cheekbone looking particularly nasty. His fingers gently brushed over them for a moment. Then he took out his wand and traced the cut, causing it to heal and leaving only a very faint scar in its wake. It would fade in about a month. Then, pointing at each of her bruises, he healed those as well; eventually she looked like she did with the concealment charm earlier, save for the scar on the side of her face.

Without thinking about what he was doing, he suddenly leaned in and traced the scar with a series of small kisses, starting at her temple and going down to her jaw. Draco felt Hermione stiffen immediately, but to his surprise she didn't pull away. Both of their hearts began beating slightly faster and Hermione's breathing started going a little more quickly as he got to the end of the scar but didn't stop, instead continuing along her jaw and arriving at the corner of her mouth. He lingered there for a few seconds, expecting her to pull away, but she didn't – instead, her breathing became shallower and slightly faster before he moved on and gently closed his lips over hers. She couldn't seem to control herself; to keep herself from reciprocating the action, kissing gently once… twice… and suddenly she pulled away, a hand flying up to her mouth, and terror filling her eyes.

"I– I–" she struggled for speech. "I have to go," she said quickly, her eyes wide. She was gone in a flash with her bag and coat, running in a surprisingly straight line for a woman who had 5 large glasses of firewhiskey. Draco was sitting there, feeling helpless, when who and what she was going back home to hit him in an enormous wave. He threw the contents of his pockets onto the bar table, hoping that in them there would be enough money for both of their drinks; though doubting that if there wasn't that Tom would press charges. Running out the door he saw her running through the rain towards an alleyway where she could safely apparate away from prying eyes, and Draco sprinted after her. She reached the alley and was beginning to turn on her heel when he grabbed her upper arm, forcing her to stop, and spun her to face him. They stood there for a few minutes: Draco, holding onto both of her arms close to her shoulders so she couldn't apparate, a slight panic in his eyes and panting for breath; and Hermione, silently crying and doing everything in her power to not look at him. Finally Draco removed one of his hands and used it to turn Hermione's face gently to face him and trapped her in his stare, and his eyes bored into hers; searching. Draco wasn't even sure what he was looking for; but whatever it was, he found it.

The hand on her face moved and, cupping the nape of her neck, he crushed his lips down onto hers.

* * *

Hermione didn't trust herself to think anymore.

All she knew was that she was suddenly opening up to her childhood enemy, trusting him – _falling_ for him? All she knew was that she had to get out of the pub, fast. She was about to apparate away when that godforsaken man caught up to her in the rain.

It was like one of those stupid muggle romance movies.

And then his lips were on hers; and he was kissing her, and she was desperately kissing him back. She couldn't think; the sweet smell and the taste of his lips combined were intoxicating and made it impossible both breathe and hold a coherent thought at the same time. He let the hand that wasn't on her neck go to the middle of her back, and he held her to himself while Hermione's fingers wove themselves through his hair. When they both needed air to the point where they were going to pass out soon, Draco moved to her neck and began kissing it softly. Hermione gulped in the sweet air, tasting the rain; and then the oxygen finally got to her brain, and she was suddenly able to think again. Her eyes, which had closed themselves while Draco's hot mouth moved against hers, flew open again as her hands went to his chest to push him away, and Draco moved his hands back to her arms.

"I– I can't," she said in a whisper, pushing herself away from him.

"Why not?" Draco asked, almost in a pleading tone.

Hermione's mouth opened and closed as she struggled for an answer for almost five seconds; an eternity; and he took advantage of that by leaning down and kissing her again; but this one was soft and tender. Nothing but pure emotion. Her will to resist immediately began crumbling when she realized what he was doing, and she pushed away again.

"Draco, just- just look at this logically-" she whispered.

"No," Draco growled, kissing her neck again. Hermione's knees felt week and she knew that if he kept this up she wouldn't be able to resist for long.

"If Ron-" Draco's mouth moved back to hers, and her wall of resistance, already incredibly weak, crumbled; and she was once again kissing him back.

Draco deepened the kiss by tilting his head a little more, and Hermione responded; surprising Draco. He ran his tongue across her lower lip, begging for entry. Hermione hesitated for about a half of a second but he ran his tongue across her lip impatiently again and she immediately opened her mouth to let him in, unable to resist. As they explored each others mouths, Draco slowly let one of his hands travel up her arm and back onto the nape of her neck again, while his other hand found its way to the small of her back, holding her body to his. Her hands slowly made their way up his muscled chest and around his neck, and he groaned slightly while turning on his heel and aparating them to the small, private house he lived in on the weekends to get away from his wife.

When they were there, she didn't hesitate and threw her bag and coat on the floor while they both discarded their wet shoes. Draco pushed her onto the first surface he saw: the couch, all the while his lips never leaving hers. Smiling slightly, Draco's tongue caressed Hermione's, and continued the desperate kiss. He slowly pressed her into the couch while they kissed, both of them heating up and their breathing getting heavier. Finally both of them needed air, so Draco moved to Hermione's neck again as they gasped for breath. Hermione's hands moved to the shirt he had on, undoing each button agonizingly slowly, torturing Draco; and when it took her a whole minute to undo three of the buttons, her fingers brushing ever so lightly against his skin and setting it ablaze when she did so, he took over with a growl and quickly undid the rest of the buttons and threw it onto the floor. Hermione smirked and ran her hands across his muscled chest, and Draco thanked the gods that he still played Quidditch with the only friend he had left, Blaise, every Monday – it was what got his wonderfully toned chest to where it was. He groaned into her neck and stood up with her again, now pressing her into the wall beside the doorway to the stairwell leading upstairs and returning to her mouth. The hand on the small of her back moved down a little more, pressing her pelvis to his as the kiss deepened even more; assuming that was possible. Hermione's eyes widened when she felt the bulge in his pants; she couldn't possibly have that effect on him after an hour or so of conversation about her abusive husband and a bit of snogging.

The hand in her hair moved down her body very slowly to the crook of her knee, sending waves of heat and shivers through Hermione's body and at the same time causing her to moan with desire. The slow movement of his fingertips, softly massaging her heated skin, was driving her mad. When he finally reached his destination, he quickly picked up her knee and placed it around his hip. Getting the hint, Hermione wrapped her arms around Draco's neck tightly and, without her lips leaving his, swung her other leg around his hip. One of Hermione's hands went into his hair, and Draco finally removed his hands from her legs and began unbuttoning her shirt even more agonizingly slow than when she had been unbuttoning his; now he was taking his turn teasing her.

His fingers brushed her skin ever so lightly, and Hermione groaned and arched into him, creating a delicious friction between their pelvises. Finally, though, Draco got impatient and ripped the last two buttons off and tugged off her shirt. Shock ripped through him in a harsh, violent wave, tearing a startled cry from his chest as it went, when he saw the evidence of the extensive violence she had endured for what must have been years. Against Hermione's desires he pulled away and set her down, and for a moment she thought that he was disgusted with what he saw and began to turn away from him as she had done earlier that night; but then he took out his wand and with a flick made all the blemishes disappear – even the ones still covered by cloth.

The wand was quickly discarded onto the floor, as they rushed back together. Hermione jumped up and once again wrapped her legs around his waist, and their lips moved together in a frenzy of passion and lust. Draco, breathing heavily, began walking up the short flight of stairs to his bedroom as quickly as he could without falling over. He set her down on his large bed and she unbuckled and tugged off his belt, throwing it into a corner of the room; soon his jeans were on the floor around his ankles and he was standing in his silk, grey boxers. She roughly and insistently pulled him down on top of her and he expertly removed her khakis; and then those were on the floor as well. One of Hermione's hands traveled the expanses of Draco's chest, feeling his muscles tense as they left a fiery trail over his torso, while the other hand remained on his neck. Draco left her mouth again, traveling down her neck and to her bra with a trail of kisses and nips, his breathing very ragged. Had his brain had the mental capacity in that moment, he would have noticed the look of ecstasy on Hermione's face, and that her breathing was just as ragged; but before either of them knew it, her bra joined the other clothes on the floor, and their bare chests were touching and on fire.

Going back to her mouth again, his hand began traveling down her back towards her panties the same time her hand began its journey to his boxers; Draco smirked slightly: they had been thinking the same thing. Before removing her panties, Draco softly stroked the inside of her thigh teasingly and Hermione arched into him, moaning.

"Hmm, have I found a sensitive spot?" Draco murmured, smirking evilly. Suddenly both articles of clothing on the floor, and he thrust himself inside of her as fast as possible. They both needed this.

It was a dance, and they were equal participants. Draco, for the first time since his marriage, felt that spark that he needed and craved – and Hermione, for the first time in years, felt safe and wanted. Neither of them deluded themselves for a moment that there was any chemistry between them causing their affair; all they knew was that they had coincidentally met met during a low point in both of their lives, and whatever the real cause, they both needed it. There was no love, no caring emotions in what they were doing. Draco was pounding into her with all that he had, Hermione meeting him with every thrust, their lips still glued together. They weren't quiet. Draco would have expressed his surprise at the wanton noises tearing themselves from Hermione's throat, but he was making noises just like hers. When Draco pushed into her for the last, desperate time, Hermione was already coming with a scream in her throat and Draco's name on her lips. Draco rolled off of her, both of them panting.

They fell asleep, holding each other.

In the morning, Hermione woke to find Draco watching her. They stayed lying down, just staring at each other, for probably close to a half-an-hour; just thinking, and trying to figure out where to go from there. Finally, Hermione sat up, and broke the silence.

"Thank you." Draco sat up, too, and nodded. They both wordlessly got up and got their clothes back on, and cleaned themselves up. They didn't say anything until they were both dressed.

"What… what are you going to do?" Draco asked, hesitantly. He wasn't sure why he cared… but he knew that, even if it weren't her, he didn't want anyone to go home to what she was going to go home to. Hermione furrowed her brow slightly with thought.

"I think I'm going to go to Harry and Ginny. It'd be hard, but… it would be hard for them to accept it, but they wouldn't think that I was lying, either. They wouldn't brush me off." Draco nodded curtly, and after a second, turned to leave the room when Hermione caught his sleeve. Draco looked back at her with an eyebrow cocked, giving her a questioning look.

"I… I'd like to see you again," she said quietly, her face heating up. She was looking very determinedly at the floor, and Draco raised his eyebrows and nodded curtly again.

"That… would be nice," he said after another moment's pause. "The Leaky Cauldron, a month from now. Same time." Hermione nodded, understanding the reason for such a long time; it would give her a little bit of time to sort out her business with Ron, and to make sure that she really did want to see him.

"The Leaky Cauldron," she repeated, letting go of his sleeve and nodding, before disapparating; leaving Draco standing there with a small smile, and something to look forward to.

_fin_

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_**And... CUT! See? No corn=happyyyyyy :) So what are you waiting for, you obtuse lump? Give me a review!**

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**Author's note, numero dos! (I don't even take Spanish. I take Chinese. In Chinese, it would be pronounced 'er ge', and the characters are 二个, but most of you won't have the Asian package on your computers and won't be able to see it ^^) I have edited it a second time, because I realized that the sex scene was corny, too. So I hopefully fixed that. I think I have, anyway. Enjoy!**


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